


Seeds Planted in Disaster

by valeriavionics



Series: Nightmare's Gang in a Nutshell [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Asphyxiation, Cervical Penetration, Choking, Ecto-Breasts (Undertale), Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Ecto-Tongue (Undertale), Ecto-Vagina (Undertale), Fivesome, Foursome, Humiliation, Hunters & Hunting, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Objectification, Oral Sex, Predator/Prey, Rape/Non-con Elements, Riding, Spit As Lube, Spitroasting, Teamwork :D, Vaginal Sex, cum kink, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28797585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valeriavionics/pseuds/valeriavionics
Summary: “Run, Cross. Run as fast as you can.” It’s downright terrifying how the finality of those words echo inside his skull, sockets opening wider, unbelieving, scared, knowing his chances of survival are low. Surely sensing this, Nightmare’s grin turns wicked, sweetly adding, “If you can make it to the castle before they catch you, I’ll grant you my forgiveness…otherwise…”Somehow, this is simultaneously worse and better than drowning.
Relationships: Crossmare, Horror/Cross, Horrordust - Relationship, Kross - Relationship, Nightmare Gang & Sans (Undertale), Sans/Sans (Undertale), dust/cross
Series: Nightmare's Gang in a Nutshell [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2111619
Comments: 10
Kudos: 115





	Seeds Planted in Disaster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skumhuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skumhuu/gifts).



The way his spine curls down under the weight of his pelvis is both painful and distracting, his patellae occasionally bumping into his face with every bounce outside the sack.

His soul is pounding with anxiety within his ribcage, barely keeping itself calm as his legs kick up the knot keeping him trapped, breaths coming out quick and brief, making the air inside the bag humid and warmer. He doesn’t know how long he’s been carried, but his struggles were reduced to pathetic jerks, the rough material of his prison scratching his exposed bones.

The sound of heavy footfalls is unrecognizable under the extra weight they’re forced to carry, but the squelch of the wet ground beneath is unmistakable, making Cross breathe just a tad harder. Out of the worst possible outcomes he can think of, being thrown into any body of water while he’s encaged, unable to breathe, unable to move, the weight of water flooding his skull, the sound of nothing, alone, is possibly the worst one.

Abruptly, gravity claims him, the dizzying vertigo of being thrown and falling making his magic flip- he barely draws a sharp inhale to scream before his body collides with the mushy ground. Water immediately starts soaking up on the fabric of the sack and his clothes, but not fast enough to alert Cross he’s in water. A rustle at his tied, bare feet announces he’ll be freed, and the next second, light blearily invades his sockets, making him hiss.

However, he quickly notices there are more pressing problems than his comfort, like the fact that he’s somewhere in the miles of forest surrounding the castle, but they’ve traveled far more than he ever dared to. It was chilly, he could see his breath fogging out heavily, and something natural with the current season- something natural considering this was Nightmare’s domain. Still, it makes his bones creak without the layers of clothing to shield him from it, left in nothing but his tattered turtleneck and the modesty of his shorts.

“ **I’m sure you all know why we’re here.** ”

Nightmare’s voice is clear, not loud, nor expressive enough for Cross to decipher what it means for him, yet detecting the slightest hint of malice in it. He’s not that stupid, he would take a pissed off Nightmare any day, he could use that anger to shield himself from being hurt emotionally, but a calm Nightmare was always bad news. When Nightmare is amused, that’s when he’s truly terrifying.

Cross finds that looking directly at his face is not much of improvement, the nasty curl of his smile sending him into jerking his heels back, trying to get away. The reward is derisive laughter from the others, the king of darkness giving him his back to address the others, and he’s forced to pay attention to them as well.

“ **Seeing we’ve been met with a transgression from one of our own, I’ve deemed just for you to receive compensation- if not the satisfaction of knowing this will not go unpunished**.”

For now, the soldier is glad he’s been gagged, else his teeth might’ve started chattering from both the cold and his former boss’s words. Again, he committed treason against Nightmare by choosing Dream, but he knows when he’s fucked up. Nightmare doesn’t give two shits about how the others feel, he didn’t back then, and he doesn’t know now, but the twist of his words is not because he’s truthful, but because he wants to get a rise out of the other skeletons.

He talks like they’re a group, associates, and it all for show. Cross knows this, the other might know it too- that as soon as they stepped out of line, they could find themselves in his place like right now.

“You’re so nice, boss”, Killer’s voice is quiet like the stalking of a snake, empty sockets narrowing and skull tilting in his peculiar way, usually when he’s assessing the situation, “Tying him up like a lil gift for us.”

Cross finds the strength and courage to glare back, muttering a muffled “fuck you” from the dry cloth inside his mouth, and to his frustration, the walking target snickers childishly at his struggle.

“can’t wait til’ we tear it up ‘n see what’s inside.” Horror agrees with a jagged, hungry smile, the red orb inside his socket dilated, filling nearly the entirety of it, while the black pupil is as small as the head of a needle. He’s shifting from one foot to another, like an impatient, feral dog anticipating its next meal.

Dust is the only one that doesn’t seem to be very interested in the whole ordeal, sockets half-lidded, idly stroking the faded vermillion scarf around his neck. There’s not quite enough distance between them for Cross to be able to ignore the quiet muttering, mismatched eyelights baring him more than clothes can cover. Cross isn’t sure of whether or not he’d like to know what’s going through his head.

“ **That’s cute, but that’s not the best part** ”, Nightmare continues, jerking his skull towards Cross, tentacles directing towards his restraints, and tugging mockingly on them, “ **I say we raise the stakes, hm?** ”

Suddenly, the tendrils turn sharp, snapping the ropes binding his ankles and wrists together, making the former guard flinch and draw his limbs onto himself protectively. He’s confused, mind half set on sprinting and not looking back with this newfound freedom, but he’d be dead before he stood up if Nightmare wished so. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have to wait long for an answer as the boss’s words are directed to him, single cyan eyelight crinkled upwards with sadistic pleasure.

“ **Run, Cross. Run as fast as you can**.” It’s downright terrifying how the finality of those words echo inside his skull, sockets opening wider, unbelieving, scared, knowing his chances of survival are low. Surely sensing this, Nightmare’s grin turns wicked, sweetly adding, “ **If you can make it to the castle before they catch you, I’ll grant you my forgiveness…otherwise** …”

Somehow, this is simultaneously worse and better than drowning.

When Nightmare found him, he was ready. He knew his treason wouldn’t be taken lightly, and while capturing Dream had always been Nightmare’s goal, he did not doubt that he ached to get his hands on him. His stay in the castle had been long enough to know the slime-covered skeleton was good in both long and short distance fighting but had trouble keeping up when the objective was a little too far off his range.

Cross only managed to fend him off for a few minutes, but Nightmare had worked him up enough to the point his jacket was unsalvageable, his bones adorned with bruises from the smart whips of those tentacles, and mentally drained from the verbal attack. The next thing he knew was a constricting pressure cutting off his magic flow, and then the sack.

He was given little time to cover before he finds himself in the present, the aches of the previous battle glaringly painful- and in contrast with the other’s energized health, ready and eager, he was practically a chicken with a broken leg.

“Nighma-“, he tries to plea, but he interrupts himself with a yelp when a tentacle violently stabbed the dirt between his legs, dangerously close to crushing his pelvis, and Cross leaps to his feet. His reaction arouses the other into an instinctive, murderous need to chase, and he stumbles back before Nightmare holds them back, hand raised.

“ **I’m giving you a fifteen-second headstart** ”, he says, cocking his skull forward, dislodging the tendril from the ground, “Take the chance, or stay and see where it gets you.”

He doesn’t have a choice, Cross turns around on his heel, still warily looking over his shoulder, and _sprints_. Exertion reclaims his legs, bucking and falling to his knees, before he forced himself back up, running as fast he possibly could.

This was hopeless, the blur of trees and vegetation only enlightened by his goal of survival, the pounding of his soul loud inside his skull as he leaps over a stump. Cross is lost, he doesn’t know if he’s even running in the right direction, the gang could’ve purposefully placed themselves in the way to make him bolt further into the woods.

Cross was going to die here.

And as the thunderous, gleeful howling behind him signaled he’d ran out of time, the reality of his situation became palpable. Like an animal, separated from its group, chased down by a pack of wolves, the parallel of adrenaline making the edges of his vision fuzzy, limbs burning with exhaustion, he was hunted down for sport. Every single one of his bones was begging for a minute of rest, some healing food, any sort of sensation of safety that could alert Dream.

He runs and runs, stepping on branches and rocks, scraping his bones with harsh bushes, slamming his shoulder on every tree he could afford to spend time on. Horror was their best tracker, the more misleading paths he took, the more time he could buy. Cross was desperate enough to pick rocks he found on the way, rub them over his clothes, and throw them away, to disturb the forest.

“Holy shit he can run!”, from a distance that was too close for comfort, Killer’s voice yells out, obnoxious, telling, like he wants Cross to know he’s there.

Cross almost wants to cry- they’d caught up to him so fast, it truly hadn’t mattered if he ran in the first place. He doesn’t have to look back to know Dust and Horror are surely by his side- even though both Killer and Dust could easily shortcut and capture him easily.

Ha…ha….Cross was going to die here.

Nightmare wasn’t going to give him the dignity of a proper burial (and why would he? Burials are for people one loves.), not even the respect of dying inside the castle. When he dusts, he was going to be carried away by the wind, or weighted down by the humidity, becoming part of the ground. Unnoticed, forgotten, inevitably a fraction of a second of eternity.

The thought terrifies him more than actually dying.

Unexpectedly, the ground beneath him vanishes, this time allowing him time to yelp, a splash of icy water immediately wakening him from his thoughts. He quickly stood up, realizing the dip on earth was a little stream reaching halfway up his tibias, and his hopes rose. This could be any other stream in the forest, but he’d seen, from his bedroom window, the distant shiny of water midst the trees.

He was so close! But one quick look behind him was enough to send that hope spiraling down, as while he was calculating, the others had significantly closed the distance between them, so much he could nearly feel the edge of the intensity of their lights. Cross quickly scrambled out with difficulty, stumbling over his steps, trying to resume the pacing he had before.

Now wet, his phalanges and his feet felt numb, even after stepping on so many sharp rocks and branches, the cold nipping at his sweaty skull.

But if he could make it… if he could just reach the castle grounds, he’s be forgiven- or whatever Nightmare considered to be mercy. The point was, the castle meant safety, it meant another breath he could take, another moment alive. Cross can’t afford to think about what would come next if he got there, and a part of him doesn’t want to.

If they still killed him regardless, it didn’t matter. Cross would’ve died in the castle, the second place that he could call home, and he’d die with all the memories he made there, he would die with the memory of Dream’s sunshine-painted smile when he changed teams.

Will he feel sad when he hears, and Cross knows he will hear, about his death? Will he just be another casualty, not unlike the Fell and the Swap back then? Or will he be mourned as a man who died trying to be better?

There’s a grey construct slowly becoming cleared the further he staggers towards it, stony and with climbing vines adorning it in such a way that he almost misses it. Tears spring to his sockets once he recognizes it as one of the outside walls of the castle, letting out desperate breaths that make his neck feel raw. Each new step feels weightless with relief, phalanges searching for support to each tree, knees buckling with blind anxiety, craving to arrive, to latch onto his earlier discarded hope.

Cross wasn’t going to die out in this forest.

And then, his vision violent plummets downward.

It all happened so fast, there’s no time to process it before his face meets the dirt, a crushingly heavy weight settling down his back, keeping him pinned, trapped, captured.

Defeated.

Abruptly, all of his senses flare-up, alive, and he can feel a body above him- forcing his face onto the dirt physically rather than magically. Rough claws keep his skull down, and Cross tries to buck off who he thinks is Horror, but to no avail.

He had been so close.

It’s not long before much calmer footfalls approach, stopping around him in a circle, and Cross sees Dust’s dirtied shoes.

“Holy shit, you can run fast!”, Killer’s tauntingly repeats his earlier exclamation, from above him, a slight pant to his voice that sounds too excited, “Ya almost made it, few seconds late and we coulda lost.”

“good job.”, Dust’s praise feels as warm as the dirt beneath him, but Cross doesn’t stay there for long before Horror yanks him back to his feet. He’s harsh, angling and pushing him further away from the castle, away from any chance to slip and escape.

A brutal shove has him stumbling towards Killer, who catches him with his signature smile, and Cross tries to jerk away, but he has a vice grip on his arms, smile curling into a sneer that has the former guard soul’s racing in panic.

“Boss doesn’t want us to finish ya quick, though, so we’ll take our sweet time.” Killer purrs, hoisting Cross up so hard that his exhausted legs can’t keep up, “You can take yours to think about how ya fucked up before ya dust.”

Cross is going to die here.

Blind terror wrangles a pitched noise from him, and Cross finds the strength to push away from the other, but Killer seems to have a similar idea as he lets go of him, causing him to stumble back and- there’s the sound of a weapon drawn, and sharp pain in his back and Cross’ jumps forward.

The smell of blood penetrates the damp air. Cross touches his back and his hand comes back spotted in purple. A quick look behind confirms the attack, Dust standing in a resting position from having slashed, a sharp, purple bone attack in hand.

Cross doesn’t have time to process his expression before another colder, swifter cut slashed through the arm of his sweater, drawing a yelp from his mouth, whipping his skull forward to catch Killer’s knife gently dripping with his blood. And just as quick, he feels the familiar sinking sensation Horror’s teeth make on his other arm- and this time he _screams_.

Even as the mutilated skeleton releases him, Cross’s yell takes a second to falter, head catching up with what is happening. He’s losing HP as fast as he’s losing blood, slow enough to not make him dust immediately, but just so he feels the life draining from him. The group's intent seeps into his wounds, and Cross barely holds back a cry of dismay.

In an act of desperation, he attempts to call forward Chara’s ability while he’s given a moment, but he’s tired, drained, and the culmination of his being is using every last bit of magic to stay alive. Nightmare has proven to be capable of containing Chara asleep, it’s useless to call for him now. Cross has no defenses, he realizes, he’s just as useless as he was in his world.

This time he feels the ground beneath him shake for a second, and he almost doesn’t jump in time to dodge the attack sprouting from the ground. He thinks he sees Nightmare from the corner of his socket, sneering and delighting in his fear and pain, but the next moment he checks, he’s nowhere to be seen. 

“Tsk, eyes up here, Crossy,” Always priding himself on his speed, Killer thrusts his knife towards Cross’ ribcage, and this time he’s not fast enough to evade it, a lighter sting blooming across his sternum, a large chunk of sweater giving out and exposing the extra cuts he’d earned in his run. The empty-socketed monster looks more exhilarated than Cross has ever seen him, and any developing idea of pleading for his life is thrown out.

More bones sprint up from the dirt, bruising his kneecaps, making his panting become elaborated, missing the next snap of Horror’s jaws, and his face slams on the dirt once more.

What was even the point of dodging? What was the point of fighting?

He was going to die there, mauled to death, and the sun was still going to rise tomorrow. The soldier’s body shakes tremendously, the fresh injuries throbbing with the cold, reminding him that this was his fault as he seeks refuge in the confines of his mind. He would much rather not be present to feel his death, however, Nightmare’s nearby presence prevents him from doing that, the pressing weight of his sins and failures rendering him helpless against intrusive thoughts.

And unexpectedly, those thoughts take a sudden turn. South.

The aches of the run become a little bearable, the cold could be mistaken for sudden nakedness, the fear and adrenaline is mere excitement, the hurt was all rough foreplay, and he’s on the floor because he’s ready.

A strangled, less than fearful noise escapes Cross when his magic finds the will to surge, but not to fight. Instead, it condenses across his body, puffing up what’s left of his clothes like a strong wind, before solidifying into a reliable construct.

…This wasn’t what he expected. Cross wanted protection from his inevitable end, maybe disassociate hard enough to pretend he was back in the antivoid of his home. Instead, he’s beckoned his magic to form everything he had to offer; from his humerus to his knees, cushioning his bones and concealing the damage done to them.

Somebody wolf-whistles, and finally, the shame sets in heavy like a boulder, his skull lighting aflame at his inadequacy.

“what’s this?”, a foot roughly nudges at his shoulder, forcing him to roll over, breasts spilling for their scarce shielding, nipples peaked from the cold. At the same time, Cross snaps his arms up to cover himself, as fruitless as it is, and Dust leers down at him, hungry for something Cross isn’t sure he can give, “are ya trying to negotiate your life, cross? you know how well that goes.”

“he knows”, Horror sneers, a dense glow emitting for his mouth, eyelight lidded with appreciative condescension, “maybe he wanna make ‘imself useful before his last ka-pow.”

Immediately, Cross tries to protest, hating how his voice comes out with less than a string of breath, “No, no, I-I-“

“I think, since he’s gonna dust either way”, Killer voice is teasing, charged with the same energy as one of his fast attacks, but Cross can’t look at his face as he turns around, staring at the shadows behind him, “it’s fair we get some fun outta it, for our troubles.”

Too late Cross realizes he’s talking to Nightmare, who’s likely been observing the happenings for a while, if not for the start. Even if Killer’s expression is a mystery for the soldier, he has the misfortune of seeing the king of negativity as a silhouette, cyan eye narrowing a second before a crescent and pearly grin spreads across the darkness.

“ **It’s your catch, do what you want with it.** ”

It’s all they need to pounce, Killer jumping in to straddle Cross’s pelvis before he can get away, effectively pinning him down to the dirt, and his legs are jostled violently by a tug on his shorts. It takes him a second to realize what’s happening, but by then, Dust has an iron grip on his wrists, and who he presumes is Horror’s breath settling between his battered femurs.

“No!”, he yells, raw and desperate, craning his skull towards Nightmare’s direction, “No, Nightmare, please, please anything but this.”

He made the wrong move, begging, an aperitif for these sickening monsters, a person begging for their life- for mercy. He had tasted that power himself before, drunk in having that much control over life, to their very being in his hands and making them at that moment, completely his to do as he pleased.

Cross sees the way Killer flashes him a hungry grin, wasting no time in tearing the remnants of his sweater apart, exposing his already perky nipples to the unforgiving cold. Almost with playful energy, Killer pinches both of them harshly, Cross cries out, becoming sensitive in a way he loathes. He tries to buck Killer off, but an iron-like grip restrains his legs, forcibly spreading them apart, and Cross almost mentally shuts down at the feeling of Horror’s tongue lapping at his opening- making him buck for an entirely different reason.

The empty skeleton above him has a similar approach, starting to grind down at Cross’s bare erection, a suffocating, damp heat seeping through his shorts, the harsh contrast of temperatures making his throb with unwanted crave. The soldier sobs, unable to fight back at the double assault, crying out when Horror gives his clit a harsh suck.

“No, no, no-“ Fuck, he had no right to make Cross feel like this, obscene slurping noises making his writhe, and he hopes they’re more of saliva than his wetness.

“ **Oh, hush** ”, Nightmare’s startling voice forces Cross to squeeze his sockets closed, feeling sick from seeing himself being used like this, but there’s no escape from the feeling of nausea hitting him, “ **You should count yourself lucky, I’m giving you a purpose before you go.** ”

Cross feels Killer shift slightly up, the sound of clothing shuffling, flinching as a frigid hand grabs him, positioning him as the other liked.

“He’s lucky, ya know, going off all high in pleasure like-“ Killer drops his weight on Cross’s lap, taking the soldier’s cock inside all once surprisingly easy, and Cross all but screams in pleasure and shock, eyelights flashing bright with the slight sting of pain it brought, “this.”

Killer doesn’t waste a second to start bouncing up and down on the generous length, expression still set on that creepy smile, which once spreads when Cross is unable to control his torso, fighting and grinding against Horror’s grip to thrust into both wet heats.

“he’s a bit noisy.” Horror rasps his complaint, voice fucked out in lust, and Cross tries to force his legs shut once more, hating how vulnerable they made him.

“Fuck you!” He manages to growl out, only to be cut off by a mildly threatening bounce from Killer, who stops to grind won oh him, hard, using his length for his pleasure. He barely manages to gather the strength and will to spit at his face, before a black fabric was pulled into his vision.

“i got it, might as well put that mouth to use if he’s gonna run it.” Dust, it’s Dust sitting on his face, smacking what’s without a doubt his dick against his mouth. Cross can’t move his hands still, an invisible force keeping them pinned above his skull while the foul dust coating Dust’s clothes infiltrate his nose, his sockets, “open up, sweetheart.”

The sound that comes from him is painfully so unlike him, something between a wail and a whimper, long and suffering, like a wounded dog, and still, Cross keeps his mouth shut for once.

It’s not enough to deter Dust, who seats himself fully down Cross’s nasal cavity and grips his neck tightly, mercilessly cutting off his airflow. Led by blind instinct, Cross fights against his binds, screaming, trembling violently, clawing at the air for freedom. It’s a waiting game that he immediately loses, mouth gaping open with a gasp, only to be pried open further by two sharp thumbs, followed suit by a disgusting thickness on his tongue and equally disgusting taste of plum and warm wine.

“good boy.” He’s praised as Dust keeps his teeth apart, lifting slightly from his face to forcibly thrust into his throat, choking him, and does it again, and again. Each fuck reaches deeper and deeper into his skull, concentrate magic pounding in protest at the foreign object, and Cross gurgles painfully, spit and precome dribbling down his chin.

Killer pinches and pulls at his breasts again, snapping his attention back to him. With his vision blocked, everything suddenly feels much more intense, adrenaline pumping through his marrow, jumping when the hot breath disappears from his pussy, replaced with something cold, thick, malleable, and alive. It starts to push inside him, and for a moment Cross thinks it’s Horror.

Until it slams all the way in at once, ripping a guttural scream from Cross, barely muffled by the cock in his mouth, hitting his cervix immediately after.

Cross screams again, broken, torn, but not in agony. Horror’s licking had made him wet enough to welcome the tentacle, which on itself with slick already. No, he was screaming because it somehow hit all of his good spots at once, insisting on wanting to get past the barrier inside him. It curled viciously, trying to wiggle in, trying to claim the place at its own, trying to claim Cross.

And he hated himself for not being as disgusted as he should have.

“oh fuck! keep doin’ that boss, he’s screaming so good ‘round me”, Dust grunts in bliss the soldier had never heard of him before, hands clutching his jaw, violently yanking his skull up the same time he thrusts down to the base, and Cross’s mind blanks out for a second.

“ **He’s squeezing down on me so tightly, too.** ” That’s Nightmare.

“His dick ain’t half bad either.” Killer, he always gives backhanded compl-

“’s like he was made for this.” Horror, “such a good little slut, taking all of us at once.”

Dust pulls back enough to let him breathe, and then completely out of his mouth, allowing Cross to take as much air as he wants. It feels like swallowing sandpaper, a wet mess of spit and pre flowing down his chin and neck, mouth gaping wordlessly.

“That’s a lovely face he’s making- well, heh, for what it counts. He’s all yours.” The tentacle removed itself from Cross’s stretched cunt with a squishy pop, but he didn’t have enough time to enjoy the break before another large object rubbed through his folds.

At the same time as Horror pressed it, Killer resumes riding him with renewed enthusiasm, squeezing down purposefully, strategically down Cross’s dick, but all he got from him was a strained whimper. He feels torn as Horror pushes in him, burning walls unable to register the intrusion even as the squeeze around him, and the cannibal wastes no time to steadily fuck him.

It’s an onslaught of sensations, an overload of stimulation that finally makes what’s left of Cross’s mental protection crumble into nothingness, allowing him to properly wail around a mouthful of cock. All is unfair, the vice grip Killer has on him that squeezes him in is demanding and controlling, Dust’s phalanges on his jaw threaten to snap his skull in half, thrusting violently into his throat- the tip feeling like it’s reaching his thoughts even. Horror is big inside, invading a deep part of him that he would’ve liked to stay private for someone he trusted.

And then, Nightmare, feeding his negativity in a vicious cycle where Cross might feel aroused, almost as if he could enjoy the experience a little, only to be cruelly snatched and replaced with shame, disgust, anger, and violation.

This was what he was meant to be, from the moment of his creation. Weak, beatable, disposable, mere entertainment for the likes of others. The soldier can’t decipher what convinced him he could be more than that, what could’ve Dream possibly seen in him to say it to him. Cross doesn’t even have to force himself to divorce from his emotions, they fade away into grim acceptance, even as his orgasm approaches rapidly and his body trembles with the buildup.

“ **Finish already, seems like our toy is getting bored.** ” Nightmare muses from the shadows.

On command, the three assailants pick up their pace, and Cross screams, back arching against Killers weight, practically bouncing on the dirt as the pussy swallows him whole, spasming around him twice, hands grabbing onto his breasts with brutal force, and the soldier cums as Killer groans and grinds down to the base of his cock. He pulses hard, milking Cross, who gratefully welcomes the pleasure that washes over the aches on his body, to the last drop.

As the empty-eyed skeleton slips off him- exposing his now soaked lap and fading magic to the cold- Dust growls, pulling halfway out his mouth, before slamming back in with a force that rattles Cross’s eyelights inside his skull, faster and harder and without regard of the damage he could be causing. Cross feels like he’s slowly losing his consciousness, and in the afterglow of his first orgasm, he sucks the length sloppily, tongue numb after being forced down for so long.

“hey, dust”, Horror calls with barely restrained lust and amusement in his voice, “wanna see how much i can make ‘im scream?”

He doesn’t give the other time to respond, or time for Cross to fret about the implications, as he rams into Cross in until their hips are pressed flush together, his engorged head meeting resistance at the end of Cross’s canal, and then going past it.

Cross sees white, agony, and pleasure clashing together in a mix that leaves his head ringing, his second climax hitting him like a train, tight and sudden and painfully delicious.

He doesn’t know what kind of noise he’s making, but it must’ve done it for Dust because the cock in his mouth buries itself as far as it can go in his throat, cutting his airflow completely, and viscous liquid pours down it, forcing him to gulp it or choke. This goes for several seconds before Cross realizes his hands have been freed, using his hands to weakly push at Dust’s legs and ass, desperate to breathe.

“oh fuck, fuck, FUCK! don’t let him breathe, he’s getting tighter…down here!”

Soon enough, there’s more wet warmth flowing into Cross, the feral sounds of Horror’s pleasured growling fading the more time Dust hold keeps him still, jerking his hips forward several times, before easing his grip on the soldier’s legs.

With a wet, vulgar slurp, the cannibal pulls free from him with a small flow of spent magic following his exit, and Dust proceeds after him, leaving Cross’s mouth and entrance gaping open, open to the elements, as he tries to desperately gulp down oxygen.

It’s over.

He can only stare up at the wet, dead trees above him, at the darkened sky, grateful that the group is staying somewhat out of his eyesight as he admires his last moments existing. Renewed tears blur out the bleak atmosphere, and as cowardly as it makes him feel, he’s okay with not witnessing his death. He’s in pain, he feels filthy and used, covered in his spit, cum, and sweat, defeated, weak.

But worse of all, he feels more alone than he ever had before.

“Ki-“ Cross cringes at how fucked out his voice sounds, like a smoker taking five packs a day, “Kill me. Just…dust me already.” He begs, for the last time.

Silence meets his request, deafening and endless. Thankfully, he recognizes this kind of quiet, the one the gang displayed when waiting for new orders from Nightmare, and that makes Cross nervous again, mismatched lights searching for his former boss in the dark.

With nothing to lose, he tries again, “Please, do it, it’s what you planned, isn’t it?”

Finally, Nightmare’s blue silhouette emerges from the blackened trees, leisurely striding towards Cross until his standing by his skull- squatting down to his level. The look on his face is energized, his single eyelight flickering from side to side across Cross’s face, searching for something only he can see. A hand comes to cup the soldier’s abused jaw, tilting his head up, exposing his throat, and Nightmare smiles.

Cross starts to shake.

“That’s what you were planning, right?” Pathetic.

“ **Hush.** ” Nightmare huffs, voice not above a whisper, like he was sharing a secret to Cross nobody else could know. “ **You know, I wasn’t planning to let you live whether you reached the castle or not.** ”

Cross knows, he knew the moment he’d been caught.

“ **But, in hindsight of how well your performance was today** ,” Nightmare strokes his thumb over Cross’s teeth, smudging the mixture of saliva and cum as to make a point, “ **I’ve reconsidered my priorities.** ”

“What?” Cross doesn’t recognize his voice anymore- so small, afraid, craving death all the same. This, of course, delights Nightmare, who continues talking.

“ **My brother is terribly fond of you, and it would be such a waste to kill you now that I’ve found a new purpose for you.** ” The king suddenly squeezes his malleable cheekbones together, making the ruined monster splutter and squint, starring in terrorized realization.

“No, no no, Nightmare, no-“

“ **I’m going to break you, Cross,** ” gleefully, Nightmare’s grin begins to drip with the slime that composes his body, phalanges digging into bone, forcing the other to look at him, “ **I’m going to tear you apart and rebuild you again and again to my liking until you are nothing more than a mindless dog. And then? Perhaps I’ll invite my dearest brother to dinner, hm? Show him how his efforts were all in vain, show him how disgusting and disloyal you are.** ”

Cross is openly sobbing now, sockets closing in fear and exhaustion, breath coming to him in small puffs, mind blacking out just as slowly as Nightmare settles him back down on the dirt. He wants to beg more, to kill him, to keep him locked away, to break him apart as he wants to, anything but hurt Dream, and leave him alone.

Nothing comes out, Nightmare chuckles, and Cross spirals down into darkness.

“ **By the time I’m done with you, you’ll even like it.** ”

**Author's Note:**

> I have to apologize, I JUST finished writing this and couldn't wait to edit it. Excuse any mistakes, please ;v;
> 
> ALSO, I was 4,100 words into it when Sku published their first "Retraining a bad dog" work, and I realized there are a lot of accidental similarities, so sorry for that too.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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